


Don't Trust Anyone You Find On Craigslist

by rokhal



Category: Ghost Rider (Comics)
Genre: Cars, Craigslist, Gen, OMC - Freeform, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokhal/pseuds/rokhal
Summary: Robbie needs new shop tools.(Inspired by that vid with the guys buying a laptop on Craigslist where everyone's circling each-other like it's some kind of arms deal.)





	Don't Trust Anyone You Find On Craigslist

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fifteen-minute-fics prompt "list" on Pillowfort.
> 
> (Took a wee bit more than fifteen minutes)

Mechanics need tools. Tools cost money. Robbie didn't make a lot of money working for Canelo's Auto and Body, but that didn't change the fact that he needed tools: a full socket-wrench set, a new multitool.

So: Craigslist.

He pulled the Charger up to the curb outside a mint-green house in Alhambra, the winter sun beating down on green grass. He had his wad of cash in his pocket, eighty bucks and some change. Got out and knocked on the peeling door.

An old white man answered: tall and bald and shriveled, a sharp gaze through thick bifocals. 

“I'm here about the socket wrenches,” Robbie said, back straight.

The man shooed him further off the porch, stepped out, locked the door behind him. He had a fishing vest on that hung loose around his waist. **Bet he's hiding a gun under there.** “You got the money?” he asked.

Robbie fanned out his bills, standing out of arm's reach.

The old man nodded. “Garage,” he said, and jerked his head. Robbie kept his distance while the man unlocked his garage door. Lifting it appeared to give him trouble, and Robbie stepped forward to help, until the man glared at him and he stepped away.

When the door finally swung up and away, Robbie caught his breath. Inside the garage sat a well-preserved Chevy work truck, the paint a little dull, but the trim, the fittings all intact, rust-free. 1950's.

“This way,” the old man said, and Robbie followed him in. The man brought out a laquered wooden box with the Craftsman logo branded into the top, opened it up. Worn wooden pegs and suede-lined grooves contained the promised set of socket-wrenches: steel, the chrome wearing off in places, a little mild rust.

“May I?” Robbie asked, and the old man held out his hand.

“Half up-front.”

Robbie fished his cash back out, stared down at the wrenches from three feet away. The size graduation seemed smooth, they all looked to be the same age, none looked loose in their niches in the box. He handed the old man forty dollars, knelt in front of the socket set, and inspected them.

Imperial and Metric. They all fit into the wrench handle. Three were newer sockets, to replace something lost; these fit, too, and were also Craftsman. Full graduations, from 1/8” to 1”.

This set had to be worth two hundred.

**See that ball-peen hammer? Hit him in the head, take the keys, shut and lock the door.**

_What the fuck, Eli._

**See if you can talk him down to just the forty.**

Robbie inspected the hinges, the handle. Handle needed reinforcement, it couldn't really be used at the moment because the screws were trying to pull through the wood. It would be tight, making it through the end of the month short eighty dollars.

Old people had trouble with inflation. He might be able to talk him down.

But eighty bucks was more than a fair price. Robbie's stomach twisted, and he stared down at the vintage wrench set.

“I'll take it,” he said at last, and he shut the case, handed the old man the other forty dollars. They both relaxed as the man pocketed the money, and Robbie picked up the case.

“Hope you get good use out of it,” the old man said, shaking Robbie's hand. His knuckles were thickened, his fingers off-kilter. “I can't anymore.”

“I will,” Robbie said. He nodded at the Chevy. “You restore that?”

The man grinned, showing the plastic of his dentures. “Restore? I've had that truck since I first moved here.”

Robbie smiled back. He respected that, taking care of what you had. Making it last. “Canelo's Auto and Body,” he said, cradling the socket wrenches under his arm. “We do vintage engines and we do a fair price.”

“I'll remember that. And you've got good tools, too.”


End file.
